Broken and Repaired
by Aurorazola
Summary: John is lost after Sherlock falls, and can't continue with his life after his entire being is shattered. Someone has to pick him up and save him. A series of 221b's.
1. Gone

During the day, it was easy to remember that Sherlock was actually gone.

At night, the shadows lengthened and the Consulting Detective could have been around any corner or out chasing a criminal.

Old tea cups, most of them still half-empty, littered the flat in seemingly random patterns. Several places held more than others, the kitchen table near the microscope being one of them. They were markers of where he spent most of his time, spots in the flat that were innumerably his.

The smiley face adorned the wall, brightly mocking the remaining tenant.

The silence in the flat was deafening. There were no murmured musings or the indignant shout of "bored." The Bunsen burner was silent and the unstable chemicals were stored away properly and not roiling threateningly. It was all heartbreakingly absent and left John curled up on the couch with his knees clutched tightly to his chest.

His eyes were glued to Sherlock's chair across the room. There was an imprint in the stuffing that was pushed in on itself and sagging because of the owner's constant abuse. The picture of Sherlock crouching along the top of the chair with his fingers steepled and eyes vacant was painfully clear to John, but he couldn't close his eyes. The dent would probably never completely come out of the backrest.


	2. Grief

Three months after the Fall left John out of a job and, if he was being honest, out of a life. Mrs. Hudson had cleaned the flat up after a three hour yelling match between the two of them, and the only part of Sherlock left was what John purposely threw around the flat after her weekly cleaning. She would put his stuff in a box and slide it into a closet, and he would take everything back out again. A sick kind of game that left both of them grieving longer than they should have been.

_Pint tonight, mate? -GL_

John knew he should accept, should prove to people that he was getting better, but he wasn't, and he didn't really care. Greg had visited him the week before, though, and John hated to see the look of pity in his eyes. It was mixed in with genuine concern, though, and John felt guilty that he was causing Greg to lose sleep over his worry. It wasn't that serious. If he wanted to grieve inside his flat and not leave, shave, or shower for days on end, it was no one's business but his own. John knew he was too selfless to let Greg worry like he was, though. He sighed, and made his decision.

_No other place to be._


	3. Gentle

**A/N: So, since I kind of let this off the first couple of chapters, hey there! I've never really tried the 221b patterns, but I'm going to attempt to string quite a few of them together into a cohesive story. We'll see, heh. I **_**love**_** getting reviews and everything, but I also understand some people don't like to leave reviews. I get it, and I just hope you all like it!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own BBC Sherlock or the original novels by Author Conan Doyle**

If John thought that agreeing to go to the bar with Greg would get the DI off of his back, he'd been wrong. The pub visit had taken place nearly a month before, and Greg would still periodically appear at 221b with groceries or beer, offering his friendship while trying not to seem pitying.

Greg had been trying to be subtle, but John knew what he was doing. What _did_ surprise him was that he didn't mind, not truly. Every time the DI appeared at the flat, John always let him in, and the two of them would sit on the couch and watch Dr. Who episodes or whatever show happened to be airing at the time.

Occasionally Greg would crash on the sofa and John would curl up in Sherlock's bed. Not healthy, really, but the sheets and pillows still smelled like chemicals and the expensive body wash the Consulting Detective had used and it was the only way John could get any sleep at night.

What sleep he managed to get was restless and littered with nightmares and Greg had slipped in twice and sat next to John as the doctor twisted and turned through his terrors. The DI's hand would sometimes run through John's hair to calm the man down. Neither men spoke about it after dawn broke.


End file.
